


Sea Legs

by idella



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idella/pseuds/idella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homura's never had to be good at what comes after. (Set during the finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Legs

The sun is beginning to set behind them when Homura and Kyoko reach the landing outside Mami's apartment. Homura hesitates, and finally Kyoko steps forward, causing the skirts of her dark blue dress to swing slightly. It's the kind of thing Homura has never seen Kyoko wear before, long and shapeless and far less flattering than Kyoko's usual skin-baring outfits. Kyoko lifts her head and straightens her shoulders. "There's nothing for it but to go on," she says, and presses the doorbell.

Mami answers right away, wearing a too-tight, too-short black dress and a set of pearls that look like they belong to someone's mother. Homura feels better about having neglected to change from her usual black and lavender, and then ashamed to have been thinking about clothes at all.

"Akemi-san! Kyoko-chan!" Mami cries. She flings her arms around each of them in turn, smelling faintly of mothballs, and steps aside. "Please come in."

She looks panicked when Kyoko and Homura offer her identical envelopes, along with the identical paper gift bags that have been dangling from their wrists since they ran into each other in a shop on the way here, but she recovers quickly, thanking them for the _koden_ and fussing over the trinkets they've produced. She leads Sakura and Homura to a low table, set in the middle of a soft green carpet, where she serves tea. Mami pours herself a cup but excuses herself without touching it. Homura hears her clattering about in her small kitchen, busy with something, though she refuses all offers of help.

Left with nothing to do, Homura sips her tea and looks around Mami's apartment. It's spacious—almost empty, really—and tidy, with huge windows that overlook the city. The sky, as the sun continues to set, is a breath-taking mixture of deep, bright blue and a vibrant orangey-pink. When Homura tears herself away from the view, she notices a picture of Miki Sayaka in her school uniform, surrounded by baskets of white flowers she recognizes but can't name.

She can tell the exact moment when Kyoko notices the altar too, because she jumps up and removes a fistful of slightly crushed apple blossoms, stems wrapped in a damp napkin to prevent wilting, from her rucksack. She borrows a vase from Mami, places the pink-and-white blossoms next to Sayaka's photo, and returns to sit in silence with Homura. Homura isn't used to Kyoko having so little to say. She isn't used to this timeline—this universe—at all.

After a while the clattering in the kitchen stops, and Mami emerges with plates of small, delicate-looking cakes. She sits with Kyoko and Homura, making faces when she forgets and drinks her cold tea, and apologizing, over and over, for the lack of proper protocol. Homura understands they are making do. Sayaka's body will never be found. Her family will never know the truth about what happened. She wonders if Sayaka's parents realize their daughter is gone yet.

"Even when they do," Kyoko starts. She crams a shu cream in her mouth. "Even when they do," she repeats after she swallows, "even when—we couldn't be at her funeral."

"Questions would be raised," agrees Mami. When she leans forward to pour tea from a fresh pot, Homura sees that her eyes are red and swollen. Homura had been wandering around Mitakihara in late afternoon when her portable telephone rang. She hadn't realized she owned a portable phone, but there it was, in her pocket, ringing. She had almost switched it off instead of answering. It had been Mami, her voice thick, as if she'd been crying. It had been too soon, this morning, too sudden, she hadn't been thinking—she was holding an _otsuya_ tonight for Miki Sayaka and would Homura attend. It would be less formal than a proper _otsuya_ , really not at all what Sayaka-chan's spirit deserves, but if Homura could come….

She eats three shu creams to be polite, and even though they're beautiful, sprinkled with icing sugar and topped with blueberries and pieces of strawberry, they have no taste to them at all. Madoka would be here if she could, for Sayaka, and so Homura is here, in her place.

There is no priest and no sutra reading, but Mami offers incense. Homura watches carefully so that when it's her turn at the altar, she can do her best. She remembers the time she spent in and out of hospital, when she assumed her first _otsuya_ would be her own. It seems very far away. Sayaka, Madoka, Homura herself, all of it seems very far away.

Homura uses her left hand to extinguish the flame she's lit, and places her stick in the incense burner. She put her hands together and offers a prayer for Miki Sayaka's soul. Kyoko goes last, her head bowed for so long Homura wonders if she's crying, but when she sits down, her face is dry. She looks pale and determined, announcing that since there's really no chief mourner, they'll all speak about Sayaka-chan.

Mami smiles and says, "That's a good idea, Kyoko-chan," and Kyoko starts, talking about how brave and kind and loyal Sayaka was. Homura thinks she can tell, from the way Kyoko keeps stopping, pausing, and then starting again, that she's trying to focus on how proud she is, instead of how angry.

Homura sits on a cushion at the three-cornered glass table, her tea cup between her palms, half-listening to Kyoko, and wonders what she's doing here. She feels restless, useless in a way she hasn't been since she came to Mitakihara City. She's never had to be good at this, at what comes after. She's rarely wasted time grieving. Every time Madoka died, Homura restarted the timeline and went back to protect her, as best she could. Every single time. Madoka is gone, and Homura should be leaving her hospital room with determination and a plan. No—Madoka is gone, and Homura should be happy, she _will_ be happy, if only she tries hard enough, it's just difficult right now because she's alone, without her dearest friend, and she doesn't know what's going to happen next.

Homura's vision blurs, and she raises her head, widening her eyes to stop the tears. She lets Kyoko and Mami's voices fade into the background; she doesn't have the energy to stay composed as well as concentrate on what they're saying. She chooses a building on the horizon to direct her eyes toward and lets her mind drift.

She's trying to remember the first thing Madoka ever said to her when she becomes aware that the voices have stopped. Mami and Kyoko are looking at her, Mami with concern, Kyoko with—well, Kyoko looks upset. "What do you have to say about Sayaka-chan?" she demands.

Homura's chest tightens in panic. She should have had a plan for this, she should have been prepared. She can't tell the truth, that she'd never paid much attention to Sayaka, was interested in her only in the context of saving Madoka. She was always hanging around Madoka; they were friends, but how could she worry about Sayaka when Madoka was there? It's not fair to Sayaka, of course, but there it is. She thinks of all the times Sayaka became a mahō shōjo first, taking the pressure off Madoka, delaying Madoka's sacrifice. Homura would have sacrificed Sayaka over and over and over again, if it had meant keeping Madoka safe.

"She—was—she was a good friend," Homura says, and bursts into tears.

***

The windows in Mami's apartment stretch from floor to ceiling and if Homura puts her slippered feet right against the glass, she can pretend she's suspended in mid-air, out of space and maybe out of time, too. In the window's reflection, Homura can see Mami slumped against the arm of her sofa, asleep. Kyoko is curled against her, head on Mami's shoulder. She can hear Kyoko's raspy breathing, almost but not quite loud enough to be snoring.

She thinks she sees red eyes glowing from the rooftop shadows of a building across the street. In the next moment the eyes are gone and something soft, like the fur of a cat, is slithering against her calves.

Homura feels her body tense, go on alert. Even if she hadn't materialized directly after what was obviously a magical battle, in the company of mahō shōjo who take her for one of their own, she would know what she is. She knows it the way she knows her hair needs washing, the way she knows without checking that she has blisters on her feet from walking in circles all day. So it makes sense that Kyuubey is here, too. And Madoka help her, it makes sense that Homura wants to do nothing more than move her foot just slightly, just until she can twist her heel into the Incubator's head and splatter his horrible red flesh all over Mami's shiny wood floor.

She turns around instead and faces Kyuubey. Now he's perched on the back of the sofa, above Mami's head. "Please accept my condolences on this sad occasion," he says.

Homura does not, even for the smallest fraction of an instant time can be measured in, believe he regrets anything. She keeps silent, trying to trust Madoka and this universe she created before her eyes. She tries to hold onto the memory of Madoka everywhere, surrounding everyone and Homura. She believes in Madoka. Her fingers, in her pocket, worry Madoka's bright hair ribbons.

Kyuubey cocks his head to one side. His expression is as bland as it has ever been. "There is something different about you, Akemi Homura," he says.

There must be something different about Kyuubey, something besides his recitation of stock phrases. There has to be. "You are correct," she says. "Incubator."

Kyuubey waits, fixing her with his unblinking stare.

Homura rubs at her eyes, itchy from crying. Once, when Madoka was dying, she'd told Homura that her mother is fond of saying there's nothing for feeling better like a good cry. At least she'll never have to tell Madoka her mother is a liar, though she suspects Madoka's own experiences had already outstripped that platitude, by that time. "We'll talk later," she tells Kyuubey.

"I believe four is an unlucky number for you humans, in any event," is his parting comment, and Homura, against all reason, finds this strangely, wildly comforting.

The barest sliver of moon is rising over the rooftops, competing with the stronger, brighter city lights. It's late, and she considers leaving. It's a long walk home, but Homura isn't afraid of the dark. She's bone-tired though, and there's always the chance her apartment will be worse than empty. If she can remember Madoka, will her house remember, too? There's a reason she's avoided the place all day, she thinks.

She's tired, and it's late, and she thinks about Mami and Kyoko, about how they comforted her earlier, when she was so distraught. Even Kyoko held her while she sobbed, looking on in approval when Mami brought out more food.

Sayaka's body isn't here, but she wakes Kyoko anyway, to keep vigil. She owes Sayaka that much. Homura settles on the sofa, the fabric under her feet warm from where Kyoko's body was. Kyoko is looking out at the night, both arms stretched over her head, trying to wake up. Mami, opposite Homura on the sofa, sleeps on.

Homura closes her eyes. Madoka had promised she would be by her side, always. Homura pretends Madoka is beside her now on the sofa, arms snaked around Homura's waist. Homura doesn't have Madoka's ribbons in her pocket, because Madoka is still wearing them. One of them keeps flopping into Homura's ear, tickling it. Homura has to keep brushing it away, and every time she does, Madoka giggles.

Madoka's breath is warm against Homura's cheek, and her hand, which has slipped under Homura's shirt, next to her skin, is warm on Homura's heart. Homura sleeps.

She wakes up to Mami shaking her, gently. There's a brief instant where Homura doesn't remember anything, and then she does, and it's unbearable. Her neck aches and she's freezing cold. Gradually she realizes Mami's saying something. "Pardon?" Homura manages to croak. Her throat hurts too, and her eyes.

"Are you going to school?" Mami repeats. Homura has been struggling into a sitting position, but she stops, her head frozen against the back of the sofa. She thinks that if she opens her mouth she'll start laughing, hysterically, and never stop.

Mami must see something in her face, because her smile, strained though it had looked, disappears altogether. "It's something to do," she offers. Her curls have been freshly arranged and she's dressed in her Mitakihara Middle School uniform, smart and trim except for the bow at her collar, which is lopsided.

Homura borrows a uniform, pining it in the back because Mami is larger in the chest than she is. She's holding Madoka's ribbons in her hand, about to tuck them away where they'll be safe, when Mami spots them. "You can wear those now," she says.

Homura looks at her. "It's over," Mami says. The peppery scent of incense lingers in the air, and Sayaka's picture is still on display, but she's right, Homura supposes. Mami frowns at Kyoko, sprawled on the carpet in front of the altar, snoring softly. "She'll catch cold, sleeping on the floor like that," she says, but leaves her be.

Homura ties the two ribbons together carefully to make one long strand. She nods permission, and Mami lifts Homura's long hair off her neck. Homura feels Mami's fingers in her hair, sure and quick. She remembers the bridges and landing pads Mami had made for her of ribbon, within the witches' barriers, remembers landing on them over and over, when she was just starting out.

Mami urges to Homura to go look, and Homura complies, more out of inertia – Mami is practically pushing her up the stairs to the loft – than any desire to see what she looks like. She avoids her reflection altogether, sitting on the side of Mami's neatly made bed. Madoka's ribbons should be in Madoka's hair, Homura thinks, but if they can't be, this will have to do.

Mami calls for her to hurry, they'll be late, and when Homura comes downstairs, Kyoko is awake, bleary-eyed and finger-combing her messy hair into a ponytail. "There you are," she says. "Let's get going, eh?"

Outside, light slants between buildings, creating patches of sun on the sidewalks. Kyoko stops at a corner Homura vaguely recognizes, though it looks different in the daylight. Kyoko balls her fists in the pockets of her dress, the same shapeless one she wore yesterday, and breaks the companionable silence that's followed them from Mami's apartment.

"Well, see you later," she says. Her voice is loud enough to draw looks from passers-by. Homura thinks she might have been trying for cheerful, and getting the force but not the feeling. The three of them continue to stand on the corner, waves of people moving around them. Kyoko digs two apples out of her rucksack and hands one each to Homura and Mami. "For lunch," she says.

On impulse, Homura reaches over and hugs Kyoko. It's not her fault she will only ever remember Sayaka dying just once. And Kyoko will never have the chance, now, to become more than Sayaka's friend. There were timelines when Homura spared them just enough notice to be jealous of how close they grew to each other. She draws back from Kyoko, suddenly shy.

Kyoko smiles at her, reaching over at the same time to straighten the ends of Mami's school tie, before she turns the corner and disappears into the early-morning crowd. Then Mami grabs Homura's hand, and Homura lets her, and they cross the street and cut over to the path, following the river to school.

END


End file.
